


First Christmas

by earlybloomingparentheses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Ficlet, M/M, Raising Harry, a little sad, also sweet, from tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 07:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17137463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlybloomingparentheses/pseuds/earlybloomingparentheses
Summary: There is a strong part of Remus that inclines toward quiet and solitude.





	First Christmas

There is a strong part of Remus that inclines toward quiet and solitude. When he imagines Christmas, he thinks of silence and candlelight, soft snow and nights by the fire. But there must, he reflects as he watches a tousle-haired Sirius Black lift a shrieking Harry above his head and stomp all over the piles of wrapping paper scattered across the floor, both of them bright-eyed whirlwinds of laughter, there _must_ be a stronger part of him that needs to be wrestled out of his shell and thrust into mess, into chaos. Because he can’t remember the last time he had a quiet Christmas, or a quiet life, for that matter, and he can’t bring himself to regret it. 

He opens his arms wide as Sirius zooms Harry in for a landing, and Harry’s sticky hands grab at Remus’ face. Christmases past have meant drunken carols and snow down his collar and James waking them all up at dawn with the loud bang of a Christmas cracker—and now toys all over the carpet and gingerbread crumbs in his hair. And Harry patting at his nose and saying, “ _Moony._ ”

“He’ll never learn my real name,” Remus says to Sirius, hefting the boy up to stand his socked feet on Remus’ knees and shaking his head. Sirius grins unrepentantly and ruffles first Harry’s hair and then Remus’ and offers to make tea.

By the time Sirius returns from the kitchen, Harry is yawning and they’re both sprawled on the floor, watching a model of the Hogwarts Express rattle around a loop of train tracks. Sirius sits down next to them. Remus accepts his steaming mug, cradling it carefully out of Harry’s reach.

Outside the diamond-paned windows, the light fades, leaving the room lit by fairy lights and candles. Harry falls asleep with his head on Sirius’ belly. Remus stretches out on his back next to them, thinking about cleaning up. Maybe in a few minutes.

“All right?” Sirius asks him quietly.

“Yeah,” Remus says. “Yeah. I mean, you know…”

“I know.”

They lie there in silence for a minute, ghosts of Christmas pasts slipping silently into the room. 

“I think sometimes about how much worse it could have been,” Remus admits. “I know it’s terrible to be thankful about what happened that night, but…”

“No,” Sirius says. “I think about it too. If my motorbike had been working right—if I’d gotten to Peter like I meant to—”

“Who knows what would have happened. Where we’d all be now.” Remus reaches instinctively for Harry’s hand and squeezes it. Harry mumbles something in his sleep but doesn’t wake up. He’s drooling on Sirius’ shirt. He’s made Remus’ life a hundred times more complicated and Remus would die before losing him.

“Come here.” Sirius reaches out and pulls Remus close. Remus smiles, inches away from Sirius, who smells like green tea and gingerbread and baby spit, and bends down to kiss him.

“This isn’t exactly how I’d imagined my twenties,” Sirius says, smiling crookedly. “I can’t believe it’s how you’d imagined yours.” 

“Not in a million years.” Undeniably, in some ways, it’s far worse: the things he’s lost over the course of his young life are immense, uncountable. But the candles are flickering and their cottage is safe and so is Harry; and he and Sirius, as Remus curls up with his arms around them both, are so solid, and so warm.


End file.
